


Gone When Morning Comes

by Fire_Bear



Series: Hang Cool Teddy Bear [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst and Feels, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 03:49:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3514274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur wakes up in bed with someone he met whilst drinking and has to get out to go home without raising any suspicions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone When Morning Comes

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by Bat Out of Hell. 
> 
> The summary is not a full summary for fear of spoilers. There's a twist in the tale, you see, and I don't want anyone to guess. I left off some of the tags, too, just in case.

Arthur woke in a comfortable bed with a slim arm slung over his chest.

It seemed he didn't have a hangover and he had obviously not drunk as much as he had intended: he still remembered the argument. And he could easily recall meeting the young woman sleeping peacefully next to him. Mei, her name was, a pretty Asian girl who had fluttered her eyelashes and caught Arthur's attention.

At the moment, her hair was fanned out behind her as she slept on her side, her grip on Arthur loose enough for him to slip away. Which was exactly what he did, snake-like, landing on the floor in a crouch. He quickly replaced his torso with the pillow and she clutched it close. That was a shame – he would have liked to have seen her figure one more time but, alas, it was not to be. However, he did take a good look at her face: those pretty plump lips; those long eyelashes; her cute little nose.

With a nod, Arthur straightened and stretched, not caring that the curtains hadn't been closed (they had 'made love' in the moonlight). If anyone looked in and saw him, naked and unabashed, it would serve them right. Although he hoped there wouldn't be a ruckus – that would make it harder to get out unnoticed.

Quickly, Arthur began to collect his clothes. Dark green t-shirt, black leather jacket, black skinny jeans, his boots... Wait, where were his pants? He looked all around, ducking down to try to see under the furniture. Mei had slipped them off when they had finally gotten to the bed, he remembered. Glancing over, he could see Mei's little, cherry-blossom pink bra hanging from the post and figured that his pants were currently hiding amongst the duvet and sheets. It would not be a good idea to search for them.

Going commando it was.

He tugged on his jeans as he headed to the door. Anime characters and hot actors stared down at him from the walls. Arthur seemed to remember her mentioning something about how sexy his accent was and Mei seemed to like Brits since there was a wall dedicated to their productions. Shaking his head, he slipped from the room and only pulled on his boots when he was at the front door. He tried the door and cursed his luck. Locked. He looked around as he pulled on his t-shirt. The key was close by, luckily, dropped into a bowl on a table in the hall. After tugging on his jacket, he unlocked the door, slipped out, locked it again and shoved the keys back through the cat flap, making sure to throw them out of reach. He watched them slide along the wooden floor before standing and making his way to his car.

Actually, he had borrowed the car. It was a black Honda Accord and it sat in the driveway, ready to go. Arthur unlocked it and slipped in. Without even so much as a glance at the house, he started the car and pulled out.

* * *

 

Hoping that he could sneak into the room and flop onto his bed without anyone noticing, Arthur eased the door open slowly. There was no sound so he slipped inside and turned to shut it as gently as possible. Just as it clicked shut, a voice spoke behind him.

“Where have you been?”

Grimacing, Arthur sighed and turned to make his way further in to find a change of clothes. “Out,” he replied, not looking 'round.

“Out _where_?”

“ _Out_ ,” Arthur stressed as he reached his bed. He unzipped his bag and began rooting around.

“ _Artie_ , stop it! I was worried. You don't have much time-”

“Alfred!” snapped Arthur, turning to finally look at him. He pretended not to notice how wide those blue eyes were or how Alfred was biting his lip in worry. “Stop. This is exactly why I left last night in the first place.”

The American shifted in his place, his usual jeans and t-shirt ensemble looking a bit faded. They hadn't bought new clothes for a while. Maybe they should spend some of their limited funds on that. After all, might as well have nice clothes before-

“Still, where were you?” asked Alfred, sitting down at the small, round table in the corner of the room. Arthur knew that was his way of silently saying that he wouldn't be moving until he confessed. “Where were you while I was busy worrying – and working?”

“Drinking,” said Arthur, gruffly. He turned back to his bag and pulled out a shirt.

“Are you still drunk?”

Too busy inspecting the shirt to look up, Arthur said, “Of course not.”

“Hangover?”

At that, Arthur found himself looking up. He hadn't meant to, he didn't want Alfred to know the truth. But he did and he found Alfred's worry morph into surprise, hurt and then settle into resignation. Arthur sighed and turned to pull a pair of plain, black trousers and underwear out of his bag.

“You were  _with_ someone, weren't you?”

Arthur shot Alfred a look. “What did you expect? You knew what you were getting into.” With that, Arthur retreated to the small bathroom to have a shower and get changed. He was under no illusion that the discussion was finished. Of course, while he let the water slide down his body, he would forget about his worries for a while, relax as much as possible before he went out to face the music.

* * *

 

“What was her name, then?”

Ah, so he wasn't even allowed to step into the room before the interrogation started... Arthur was still towelling his hair as he moved over to his bag, sparing the standing Alfred a glance before he stuffed the dirty clothes into it and looked away. “How do you know it was a girl?”

“It's mostly girls. The only times it was guys-” Alfred broke off, taking a deep breath.

“Mei,” said Arthur, shrugging as he zipped his bag closed. His back was still to Alfred. Was he wearing that hurt expression again? He had been doing that a lot recently... Arthur pushed the thought aside and reached under his bed to pull out a second bag. This one was heavier and he grunted as he lifted it. Dropping it on his bed, he spoke again. “From Taiwan. Or Thailand. Somewhere beginning with 't', anyway. Came here for university and ended up a barmaid for a while. Now she's some sort of marriage counsellor. Is that enough detail for you?”

There was a silence as Arthur opened the bag in such a violent way he was surprised that it didn't rip. Inside was a variety of guns and ammo, a carton of salt, several lighters, a few large knives and a half-filled bottle of rum. He was tempted to take a sip but, with Alfred in the room, he knew it probably wouldn't reach his mouth.

Perhaps Alfred had seen the bottle from where he stood. Perhaps he had been rehearsing what he had to say to Arthur while he waited for him. Whatever the reason, Alfred spoke. “Arthur, this isn't healthy, what you're doing to yourself.”

Snorting, Arthur glanced over his shoulder, noting the pleading look on Alfred's face. “And what do you know about healthy?”

“We're not talking about eating habits!” exclaimed Alfred as Arthur pulled out a gun before replacing it in the bag. “We're talking about the way you're-you're not caring about yourself! I mean, you're just going from one person to the other at a more frequent rate than- Than last year... And your drinking trips are happening every day.”

“So?” demanded Arthur, leaving the bag alone and whirling to face Alfred. He didn't want to talk about this. The whole reason they were here was so he could distract himself. Why was Alfred so insistent on reminding him at every chance he could get? “I can do what I like. Can't I live as I want for a while?”

“No! That isn't living! That's accepting your fate!”

Arthur flinched. He had, after all. What could he do? There was no way to stop it and Alfred knew it. However, Arthur tried to deflect. “Look, this is what we argued about last-”

“And you walked out in the middle of it!” cried Alfred. He spun away from Arthur, paced for a few moments before turning back, the irritated look gone, replaced with exhaustion. Arthur tried not to flinch with guilt. “Artie, I don't want this. We need to stop it or reverse it or something.”

After a pause, Arthur swallowed. “There is no stopping it, Al. There's nothing we can do. And there's no way in  _hell_ I'm reversing it.”

Alfred let out a bark of laughter at that. “Why not?”

“Because then you'd be dead!” Arthur shouted, his hands clenched at his sides.

“But I don't want  _you_ to die either!”

“Al, you're young,” Arthur tried to explain in a calmer manner. “It's not fair that you died like that and-”

“I would've been dead before that! You saved my life – twice, now – and I owe you. How am I supposed to do that if you're dead.” Alfred stared at him sadly and Arthur could see the tears gathering at the corner of his eyes.

“Enough,” said Arthur. He didn't want the boy to become upset because of him. Not again. “I don't want to talk about this any more when we're busy.”

“But-”

“Where is it?”

“Ar-”

“The body, Alfred,” said Arthur through gritted teeth. “Where is it?”

“We shouldn't be worrying about ghosts when you're going to Hell in three months!” snapped Alfred, glaring at Arthur now. They both froze, both of their eyes widening. Arthur had known he only had a year but where had the time gone? It seemed the cases were providing a suitable distraction. With a shaky breath, Arthur turned to his bag. Alfred tried to speak to him, probably trying to apologise. “Arthur, I-”

“Alfred. Where. Is. The. Body. Buried?” he demanded, sorting through guns he had sorted a million times. He pulled out a sawn-off shotgun and checked to see if he had  _definitely_ put in the rock salt shells.

After a brief pause, the tension squeezing at Arthur's chest, Alfred told him. “Rosewood Cemetery.”

“Rosewood?” asked Arthur, frowning as he turned to Alfred. “It doesn't happen to have real rosewood trees planted there, would it?”

“Uh... Hang on,” said Alfred, sounding a little confused. But, after all their time together, Alfred knew to trust Arthur's instincts. He pulled out his laptop and sat at the table, opening it and booting up his Internet browser. Grumbling at how slow the crappy connection was, he was finally able to bring up a search and, after a few clicks, Alfred looked up at Arthur. “Yeah. They do. Why?”

“Look up the magical properties of rosewood, will you?”

“ _Oh_ ,” breathed Alfred, obviously remembering an earlier case. As Arthur finally deemed the shotgun ready and set it aside, Alfred looked up with wide eyes. “Get this! There's different properties for the different sorts of rosewood – and the East Indian sort is used to communicate with the dead!”

Arthur frowned. “Well, it'd explain why there are so many different deaths. It would be different ghosts returning to kill them; all those people buried there with a chance to come back... But I doubt East Indian rosewood has been planted _here_ of all places.”

“No, Artie, it _is_.”

“What do you mean?” asked Arthur, drawing closer and sitting at the table.

“The cemetery was created by the owner of the land, a Mr. Mannan. He imported rosewood trees from his home country – and he came from _East India_.” Alfred grinned at Arthur.

“Damn...” Arthur muttered, drumming his fingers on the table. Before Alfred could ask what was wrong, he added, “Look and see if there's a way to reverse spells that used rosewood.”

“What? Why?”

“Because, if it was just the presence of the trees, there would have been constant ghostly deaths around here. But it's just started up recently.” Arthur tapped a finger on the metal surface of the dull table. “So we're going to need to reverse the spell – we can't salt and burn all the bodies in there.”

“Oh, right,” said Alfred. He went back to clicking and tapping at the computer. The silence which settled over them was heavy with all that went unsaid but Arthur tried to ignore the tension. Finally, Alfred looked up from his laptop. “Well, there are different ways to remove different spells but we need to find out what was cast and on what and where and everything.”

“Then it looks like we've got some investigating to do, Agent Bennet.”

“Man!” Alfred whined, complaining again. “Why do I have to be the girl?”

Arthur merely smirked at him. Standing, he made his way to the wardrobe where he had hung up their suit jackets. He pulled on his home-made holster and then slipped his jacket on, went back to his bags, found some socks, pulled them on and then slipped his feet into a pair of smart, black shoes. When he was completely ready, he stuck his Browning into the holster and a small knife into the other side. Turning, he found Alfred staring at him.

“Well?” he said, catching Alfred's attention. The American blinked up at him: it looked as though he had pulled him from a reverie. “Come _on_.” Alfred nodded and stood to make his way over to the wardrobe, too. He began to get ready as Arthur threw a Beretta and a similar knife onto Alfred's bed. “We'll go to the cemetery first, see if there's-”

“I know you've given up,” said Alfred, suddenly, stopping Arthur in his tracks. “But I haven't. And I was talking to some hunters we've got numbers for and they seem to have heard that a couple of guys have gotten out of a deal before.”

Trying to keep his temper, Arthur took a deep breath. “Did they now?”

“Yeah, some guys called Winchesters.”

Blinking, Arthur stared at Alfred who still hadn't pulled on his suit. “The Winchesters?”

“You know them?” asked Alfred, eagerly.

“No, I've just heard of them. Good _and_ bad.”

“Bad?”

“Yes, now, let's go.” He strode to the door and opened it.

“Wait! Aren't you interested? Shouldn't we-?”

“Alfred!” cried Arthur, turning back, eyes flashing. “Stop it! Why do you keep going on?! There's _nothing_ we can do! Now get in your damn car.”

He turned and, just as he stepped out of their motel room, heard Alfred mumble something. Instead of asking what he had said, Arthur let the door swing closed behind him, making his way to the car. After all, he had a feeling he knew what Alfred's mutterings were. Before all of this, before Alfred had gone and gotten himself killed, Arthur had heard him say something into his ear, something he wasn't meant to hear. As he had tried to get some sleep between cases, Arthur had clearly heard him say those words, though, Alfred thinking he was out for the count. They meant too much and he had tried to forget them.

“ _I love you_.”

It was too painful to think about and Arthur pretended that he didn't know about Alfred's feelings. After all, it was easier for both of them. If either of them could die at any time, they wouldn't have to mourn.

That was what he had told himself – and then he had sold his soul to bring Alfred back to life.

Sighing, Arthur ran his hand through his hair, leaning against the car to wait for the younger man. He hadn't wanted to cause Alfred distress and, if Yao hadn't told him, he would have been blissfully unaware of Arthur's impending doom. Now, he seemed to be obsessed with saving Arthur – but Arthur didn't want to be saved if it cost Alfred his life.

He was startled from his reverie as Alfred emerged, looking dapper as usual in his navy suit. Before their eyes could meet, before Arthur could see the disappointment, he turned and unlocked the car, slipping into the driver's seat. Alfred paused for a moment before walking around the car and getting into the passenger seat. Without a word, Arthur started the car and one of the song's on Alfred's iPod started to play. It just so happened to be Highway to Hell by AC/DC. They glanced at each other and Alfred was quick to skip to the next song as Arthur pulled out of the car park, the heavy atmosphere weighing them down.

**Author's Note:**

> I do want to write the rest of their story - how Arthur becomes a hunter, how they meet, why Alfred died, how they get out of this or if they do. But that'll have to be done at a later date.


End file.
